Gardez mon amour
by Kid Blink
Summary: Guard my love Raoul sits watch and considers his feelings, the people around him, and of course, the Phantom. Slash, RaoulErik. An alternate scene for the graveyard battle.
1. Surprise

Some relief had come. . .

With Christine in the dormitories again, it was much easier to look over her. To keep her from _him. _

The relief, however, had not released the burden. . . The weight from my shoulders had not yet been lifted. Sometimes, I feared it never would. Tonight, though, tonight I would make sure he could not reach her. Christine would sleep soundly under my watch. Christine. . .

It is funny to think that a person could cause such a complexity of emotions within oneself. She, Christine, her name alone made me feel revitalized, youthful once again. Youthful, in the sense that I felt happiness in the memory of childhood games, of sweet nothings whispered and shared, and not the melancholy nostalgia that had haunted me all these years.

Though her presence caused me great cheer, it also brought content. A quiet content, a comfortable familiarity. She was a childs song, lulling me, the mere thought of her washed a calmness over me. This woman was created to make my insides turn every which way, and at the same time with a look into her wide, innocent eyes, send me to a reverie. . .

She was mine again.

Or so it had seemed.

There was him, of course. The opera ghost. The phantom. Madam Giry's refugee. Christine's tutor. The thorn in my side.

My legs were growing numb, my lower back and buttocks throbbing with pain. I had been perched on the rickety stage chair at the entrance to the older performers quarters for hours. It had seemed like hours. The moon had passed over the window and was now out of my sight. It was growing darker in the stairwell. All the more reason to remain alert.

But. . . The softer side of my bride-to-be, Christine's calming quality had flooded my mind as I searched for pleasant things to occupy my thoughts with. I had begun to drift, to nod to sleep in my wooden seat. . .

This was when he arrived.

-

Author's note: I apologize for FF doing away with my apostrophes. And for the length of this first chapter. I'm also working on the second chapter for 'The Greatest Thing'. So, keep your eyes out. And wash them, while you're at it. Dirty things, eyes.


	2. Captivation

There came a warm sensation on my shoulder. From behind. A hand. Madam?

No, no. It was too wide, the gloved thumb was pressed against the side of my throat. Lightly.

I moved to turn my head, to turn my body, but the other hand met my free shoulder. Both hands commanded me to face forward. The closed door. Behind it lay Christine. She was safe. But was I? And why in heaven's sweet name was I following physical commands of an unseen… phantom?

Oh yes, I remember, now. The gloved hand, black and leathery, but warm and strong, moved down over my shoulder. It rested a moment on my chest, then slid further down still, until it flayed on my belly. Sometime during this act, the hand had slipped under the collar of my pale shirt. Though, the collar I admit served as a weak barrier. My chest was exposed, now. And the length of the arm was pressed against me, the body to which it belonged was against my shoulder blades. I smelled him.

A hint of expensive cologne, the scent of a freshly pressed suit, the slight smell of sweat. I swallowed, just as his right hand moved to my throat.

I nearly flinched, believing that to be my undoing. His gloved hand on my neck. But no, he was gentle, grasping my throat in the cup of his hand, and moving the fingers upwards, over my chin, and to the right side of my face, after having brush my parted lips. My hands shook. I could hardly breathe. What was his game? My mind raced with ultimatums.

"What is it-" my first attempt at speech was cut short. His hand returned to my mouth. Three of his fingers held my lips silent, the pinky finger, caressing my chin, the thumb pressed lightly to my cheek. The action was hardly threatening, but, my pulse quickened. My eyes closed with momentary surrender. I had been concentrating so deftly on the doings of his right hand, that I had not realized how much further his left hand had traveled. His four fingers had slipped under the waistband of my under breeches. I blinked rapidly, much more alarmed and wishing to speak out than I had been before.

"Vicomte," he finally spoke. His voice was deep, and rich. Not so harsh as I had imagined before.

I was trapped in his embrace, for now, the right hand that had silenced me, was resting on my chest, encasing me in his grasp.

"You so easily allow your guard to falter," he said, his breath against my left ear and cheek. I stared straight ahead, almost hoping for Madam to. . . No, no, was I a man or wasn't I? I didn't need Madam Giry to frighten off the ghost. I moved my hand to my waist, to pull his hand away from, dare I say it, my effected manhood. "My my, you do hold a passion in you. And I thought you were merely an insolent, over-dressed lad of wealth." I could feel his eyes move over me.

I felt the cold of his white mask against my face, suddenly, then the shock of warmth from his lips. They were pressed just under my cheekbone, and his right hand began to roam, inevitably moving to join the other.

Then, the handle of the door I was quite badly failing to guard gave a start. It shook. The door began to creak open.

I swallowed, hard, and closed my eyes, to the phantom, to our compromising situation. . . And to the face of whomever might be emerging from the dormitory. I felt as though my heart would surely stop. He had faltered in his movements, perhaps just as surprised as I. "What a time," I heard. His voice carried his wicked smile.


	3. Pinnacle

Damn! Dear lord in heaven. . .

I moved quickly to gather myself, adjusting my shirt and trousers and hair. I pushed it back from my eyes, the eyes that were concentrating heavily on the door before me. My cheek, neck and shoulders all felt extremely cold, suddenly, where the Phantom had been but was no longer. I was broken out in a cool sweat, and I adjusted myself and my limbs so that my rather embarrassing situation would not be discovered.

My eyes were intent to learn who I was to face, and as the door opened, a small, pale hand came into sight, followed by a slender arm, a rather well endowed chest under a pale nightdress, and long, flaxen hair, belonging to one Mlle. Meg Giry. Her face could be seen now, and she looked rather spooked. Her soft face was contorted into a disturbed expression.

Meg squinted into the near-darkness and then spoke, "Raoul? Vicomte?"

"Yes, Meg, I am here. Is everything all right inside?" I answered with concern.

"Oui, monsieur," Meg said, though her body gave a shudder even then. She wrapped her arms about her chest and embraced herself where she stood, partially in the path of the door. "Is something the matter out here?"

"No, everything is," my breath was still ragged, and I moved to stand, "fine." I examined Meg further, and she seemed to be chilled, so my hand extended to my topcoat that was hung over the railing beside me. I moved towards Meg and extended the coat to her, and to my surprise, she took my offer.

It was wrapped around her chest and arms quickly and she stood nervously, feet spread in her normal dancer's position, and coat tail hanging about her legs.

"Has the fire gone out, Meg, dear?" I wondered, brow knitted with concern.

"No, it burns still, monsieur," she assured me, and her hand came back into view as it reached to touch the center of her forehead. She looked mildly dazed, and I feared she may have been suffering from a nightmare.

"Please, Mlle. Giry, sit down," I gestured behind me to my abandoned chair and moved out of her path, hoping she would sit a moment and relax.

"Merci, Raoul," she had said, and stepped quietly to the chair and took her seat. She looked up into my face with her wide eyes, and then, I remember, they had looked terribly troubled. "Would you mind my company for a small while, monsieur?"

"Not at all, Meg. I think I would prefer it to the dark." I shut the door to the dormitory and moved to stand next to my chair where Meg now sat. "You seem uncomfortable," I said.

"It is nothing, monsieur, sleep escapes me."

"Perhaps we have been visited by the spirits of the night? I do not think the ghosts have left me," I told her, wondering in the back of my mind if she would truly understand my meaning.

"We are not alone, still," she answered. She did understand my meaning. Or perhaps she was searching for someone, some thing, to blame. She took my hand, then, and I looked down into her rather childlike face. "You are very brave to stand guard against him for the one you love." We were together, after all.

I felt it necessary to comfort Meg, and my hand squeezed hers faintly in response, and I told her, "I stand guard for more than one. You know you are safe while I am watching. . ."

"Merci, that gives me comfort," she told me, and offered me a smile that made it feel as though the torture I had just endured had been worth while. I crouched down beside her, and moved to kneel. "Raoul?" she questioned.

"Oui, Meg?" I took her hand in both of mine and held it at my chest; it was like ice.

"We will defeat him. I am not afraid," she told me, and she placed her free hand against my face, and it felt oddly warm. Perhaps my face was as cold as I had imagined.

I tilted my head forward, as if making a vow, "Not fear, but do hold respect," I warned her. He always seemed to be three steps ahead of most everyone at the opera house. She nodded, and I believe she fully understood, perhaps better than even my own comprehension of the situation, and her head tilted forward as well, so that our foreheads met, and she sighed, and there came a hitch in her breath. Her hand twitched against my face. Suddenly, I found that my own hand had released hers, and had cupped her own petite cheek within it. I drew her face upwards so that I could look into her eyes.

"Vicomte?" Another hitch in her breath.

Heart's desire aside, I could surely read body language, and I knew that the comfort of what was to come would surely put out the icy fires that were left by the torture I had endured. . . The Phantom's chilly mark. Her breath was warm against my cheek and lips, and I leaned forward and kissed her lips chastely, still holding one of her hands to my heart. She felt warm then. I felt warm, then. Her hair fell around my face and it was then that the dormitory door was opened for a second time.

Unfortunately, I could not help my situation. I could not see until it was too late. I had fallen further into his labyrinth.


	4. Descent

In the darkness of the partially opened door, there was her face. Her eyes were wide and childlike. Those, of course, of Christine Daae. And in almost an instant, I had seen it happen; almost as if the clockwork had been visible behind her brown, doe eyes. The pain and jealousy registered within her mind and I felt as though the blow she must have felt in her heart had stricken me as well.

I felt sick.

A few moments of silence passed that I curse to this day, then she spoke.

"Raoul?" her concentration was placed upon myself.

"Christi-" I was cut short there, still sitting so close to Meg. There was a wicked wave of fabric and a flapping sound that truly made my heart leap with fear. Blackness.

Then the heart-shattering words were spoken. . .

"He does not love you." His voice was chilling and earnest, so honestly believable.

When I looked up I saw that for certain that is was him. His arms were about Christine where he stood behind her, blocking the door shut from any further traffic. I gazed upon the pair of them, she in his embrace, and wondered back for a moment, when exactly my night had fallen to pandemonium. It was four of us. Two of whom had come to me in the night, neither of which were the one I loved and guarded. My night to be protector had gone horribly awry.

I did not take my chance to speak, something that has haunted me since.

"He only wishes to frolic with pretty-faced girls," Erik said. "You were simply his first victim." As I watched, Christines expression changed. Her eyelids seemed to grow heavy. Reason had left her, I believe, momentarily.

"But Raoul," a flicker of hope inside of my was stirred. Her eyes were alive once more. She was fighting his control. Free-will reigned, at least for a while longer. "Meg?" I took the moment when the focus was passed on to stand.

"She went along with his games." The phantom answered the both of us, Meg and I. "They do not care for you." Not like I do, I imagined him to say. I took a risk and glanced down to Meg, who I realized was quite stunned, herself. There was no hope of her speaking any protest. The moment my eyes left her, I recognized, we had been set up.

"Come with me, Christine. I will look after you. I will be yours, only yours. My Angel."

My eyes locked with my loves and I felt them pooling with tears of dread. Could she read my thoughts? Could she tell that I had no meant to hurt her? Was it clear that we were her true allies and not this ghostly demon?

No.

Before there was another word uttered, she was whisked from the wooden floor and up into the rafters, held tightly under one of his arms. She did not protest, but turned and clung to him, her face buried against his chest. A terrible and mystical sound rang through the attic of the opera house: "She is mine."

The door burst open but I did not see it. I heard the distress in Madame Girys voice, however, and turned to see she was holding a pillow. It was white with a lace-trimmed case and a large wet spot in the center. She glanced between Meg and I in confusion and it settled upon her features after studying our own that she understood. For the time, Christine was _his. _

Buquet and I searched the upper and lower parts of the Paris Opera House for the remainder of the night. It was near dawn when he came to me after a chilly venture onto the roof. He revealed that there had been a slab of stone removed from its place on the flat of the roof, amongst the statues and snow. Directly below it was a crawl space and the wooden frame that separated the roof from the ladies dormitory. A hole had been drilled with a simple turn drill through the wooden roof directly above the bed of Meg Giry. How tiresome and cunning. . .

By God, I swore I would find her. . .


End file.
